Resident Evil: Factor of X
by Moral Mark
Summary: While on a special operations assignment deep inside an Umbrella research facility, SHIELD Agent Faye Adelman discovers Umbrella's latest experimental venture - the US's own, long-abandoned Weapon X Project
1. Trials and Hearings

Please state your name, position, agency number, and branch of service for the record.  
  
"Faye Adelman, Special Operations Agent 423-12-6743, US SHIELD."  
  
Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give to this special debriefing session is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?  
  
"Yes."  
  
Thank you. Present in tonight's hearing is John Ross and Sharon Carter, US SHIELD, with John Yarber and Robert Gains from the US CIA.  
  
"Debriefings aren't usually like this. I don't normally give out 'testimonies,' especially to high brass like yourselves, no offense."  
  
Well Agent Adelman, the special circumstances that have occurred during your assignment calls for a special debriefing. Actually, though this is officially a debriefing, this is also a specially assembled hearing as well.  
  
"Am I being tried?"  
  
No Agent Adelman, you are not.  
  
"Were my actions wrong?"  
  
That's what we're here to determine.  
  
"Then wouldn't this count as a trial?"  
  
No. This is a debriefing. You aren't facing punishment.  
  
"Hmph."  
  
Agent Adelman, we understand the trying circumstances that you have experienced and the fact that you haven't rested since the assignment was over. However, we do ask that you try to cooperate with us as much as possible so that this meeting will be over sooner.  
  
"Yes, sir. I apologize."  
  
Thank you. Let's get started. Now, the assignment that you were given approximately two days ago - Please describe the assignment details as you received and understood them.  
  
"It was a covert intelligence gathering operation, sir. I was assigned to a four-man infiltration team as a data-tech specialist. The two main objectives of the mission were to secure a key turncoat for a research facility in Northern Canada - "  
  
Who owned the facility?  
  
"Umbrella Bio-Medical Inc, International."  
  
Please continue.  
  
"The objectives were to rendezvous with and pick up a research scientist, Dr. John Burnside, for the Umbrella research facility, who had turned corporate spy. The second objective, with the assistance of Dr. Burnside, was to retrieve any and all information that linked Umbrella International to anything that may have occurred in the events that took place in the Raccoon City Disaster, which occurred over US soil. This particular objective was my specialty purpose - I was to hack into the facility network and find anything that met this objective, which included correspondence, research material, personal notes, and hard evidence."  
  
Did you understand the nature of this assignment, particularly in how it was supposed to be carried out?  
  
"Yes, sir. This assignment was to be highly covert, highly secretive. This was due to the fact that even with CIA collaboration and special NATO jurisdictional powers, the assignment skirted the edge of SHIELD jurisdiction, producing a highly politically and legally volatile situation. Needless to say, it was understood that Umbrella catching us looking underneath their skirts would be very, very bad."  
  
Go ahead and continue. Please describe how the assignment was to be carried out.  
  
"The assignment was to begin at 2000 hours, where our team was to board the C-130 and go airborne. At 2145 hours, we were to infiltrate the Umbrella facility by high-altitude drop, landing on the outskirts of the facility in the cover of dark and fog as the facility would systemically put their security network on maintenance, enough for our team to land and clean up our chutes undetected. From there, our team was to rendezvous with Dr. Burnside right outside the specified storage hangar at 2230 hours. He was then supposed to walk me through everything I needed to know to infiltrate Laboratory 1, breach Burnside's work computer, hack into the Umbrella system, and gather the information I needed. After that, take Burnside with us to the extraction point which was on the edge of the facility, wait for pick-up by land-vehicle by 0100 hours, and it was to be Sayonnara, ops complete.  
  
"Our rules of engagement were simple - do not shoot unless under lethal fire. We were to avoid casualties as much as possible."  
  
So you felt that you understood the assignment details, then?  
  
"That is correct, ma'am, I did."  
  
All right. Now, please tell us what happened since the operation began.  
  
"In general? Heh, well, to be short - things were ALREADY wrong even before I boarded the plane." 


	2. The Dead and Dying

She subconsciously tapped the top of her helmet which rested on her lap, softly drumming the surface with her fingers in succession. She let out a soft sigh and leaned her head against the cold airplane wall. Fidgeting with the clamps that were on the base of the helmet, her awareness caught up to her consciousness as she pulled her hands back to holding the helmet once again, brushing back her already taut black hair with her right hand. Some would have assumed it the nerves that had her. Others would have assumed contemplation that troubled her. In all reality, it was neither - it was just simply anxiety. Pre-game anxiety.  
  
The woman with the black hair looked to her immediate right. Ben Riever, aka Converse, stared at the floor below him, casually smacking a glob of gum between his molars as it bulged in and out of his cheeks. His ash-brown hair was also combed back, and his helmet rested on top of his right knee. His left foot tapped the C-130 floor, though almost rhythmically, as if to a tune. Converse almost always did this when he was found standing or sitting still when he wasn't playing the game. He was always known to have a rhythm in his head.  
  
The man standing across the plane from the woman already had his helmet on, with the oxygen mask dangling loosely on the left edge. However, Three Eyes' head was rested on the corner of a nearby strut, and his helmet partially covered his closed, napping eyes and open, drooling mouth. A notorious napper and an even more notorious light sleeper, Paul Serrada could fall asleep anywhere, but instantly snap awake at the drop of an air particle that was off place - almost literally. Falling asleep in cargo planes was his specialty, especially before go-time.  
  
Meanwhile, Mark Guierro, unoriginally dubbed "Chief," was up at the cockpit with the pilots, probably receiving last-minute mission details from base.  
  
Faye Adelman grinned as she looked up at the dull yellow light that weakly illuminated the cargo bay.  
  
"Hey Code, what's up?" Converse asked, speaking through the deafening hum of the Hercules' propellers outside.  
  
"Nothin'," Faye, or Code, answered, also speaking through the noise. "Bare-ass cold, though."  
  
"Weather guys say a snowstorm's gonna pick up tomorrow."  
  
"Which is why we're supposed to jet by 0100, so we can dodge the blizzard."  
  
"Right," Converse affirmed. His left toe thumped out several more beats before he asked, "Nervous?"  
  
"No more than usual."  
  
"Right, so anxious, then."  
  
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Code said half-sarcastically.  
  
Converse leaned back on the wall behind him and crossed his arms across his utility vest, which was no less packed than the rest of the team's gearl. Standard infiltration equipment, chaff and flash grenades, smoke signals, combat knife, plus a couple items that best fit his specialty. The notable exception to his equipment was the Glock 9mm that was in his holster, with the accompanying suppressor in his pant leg. He glanced at his equipment straps hung up in the middle of the cargo bay, which securely held on to the MP-5 with pre-installed suppressor. His gear hung along with everyone else's, as well as the high-altitude diving chutes.  
  
"Hey, don't you think that the the heat we're packing's a little lighter than usual?" Converse asked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, aside from Three Eyes' zippo, all of us are packing nine-mil weapons exclusively. Might as well bring bb-guns and air rifles instead."  
  
"Converse, this is a sneaking mission. We're not supposed to off anyone."  
  
"But what if we have to put something down?"  
  
"Nine-mils would work just fine."  
  
"What if we have to put something BIGGER down?"  
  
"You asked this at the briefing already."  
  
"Yeah, but Quartermain dodged the question."  
  
Code sighed. "Well, if we were to go red at any given time tonight, we're supposed to do it so that we (as in the US Government or its agencies including SHIELD) aren't linked to it. If the guys below, who are civilians, mind you, find bullet-induced dead bodies, they'd find a nine-mil less suspicious than say, a 50 cal or M16 bird in their asses."  
  
Converse remained silent for a moment. "Sounds shady to me."  
  
"Good job describing your current career choice."  
  
"No, I mean, kinda sounds illegal. Er, well, more illegal than what we usually get to do."  
  
"Which is why I'm grinning," Code said. "This op's about a half a step away from being purely criminal."  
  
"Huh."  
  
The yellow light that lit the cargo bay turned off as, at the end of the C-130, a red light flashed on. Two air crew members shot up from their seats and began rigging the jump-line.  
  
Meanwhile, Chief entered the cargo bay from the cockpit above and made his way down.  
  
"Gear up, it's time."  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
"Gotta hand it to the tech fellas at SHIELD." Three Eyes pulled a certain white string on one of his parachute straps, and within seconds the parachute spakled in flares, instantly turning into black ash. "They know how to cover our asses."  
  
Code crept towards Three Eyes as he removed his diving helment and placed it under a nearby bush, kicking snow over the helmet to cover it up. Slipping on his mask, he drew his sniper rifle and wedged the butt on his shoulders, keeping the gun pointed on the ground.  
  
"Stand fast," Code whispered through her mask, "Chief and Converse will be here in a sec."  
  
They waited only moments before they appeared in front of them as two grayish-white figures stopped in mid-creep behind some trees across the narrow clearing. Chief managed two soft whistles at Code and Three-eyes. Code confirmed with a single-whistle reply.   
  
Creeping out of hiding, Chief and Converse entered the clearing as the color of their suits rapidly turned whiter to match the snow below their feet. Infra-thermal sensitive suits, as they were called - the fabric of their clothing changed color appropriately to the ambient air temperature and the surrounding lightwaves of the given environment. Chief and Converse weren't invisible by any means, but they were far from obvious eyesores, at least.  
  
Chief motioned Converse to take point, and as he scuttled several yards ahead of them Chief motioned Three-eyes behind him, and pointed at Code to assume his left side. Within seconds, they began their trek into the compound, the winds picking up in speed ever so slightly.  
  
Over twenty minutes later saw them about five feet away from the edge of a much larger clearing.  
  
"Three Eyes, go high," muttered Chief.  
  
"Roger." Three eyes glanced up at the surrounding forestry shortly before he climbed up a nearby tree. He nested himself on a sturdy branch and trained his sniper-rifle into the open range.  
  
"Up high and ready to fly, chief," Three Eyes said.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
"Place looks empty. Lights are on, no bogies on foot or nearby. Guard change?"  
  
"Don't think so. Cameras?"  
  
"None nearby, Chief."  
  
Chief pulled out his infra-red goggles and scoped the horizon for himself. "Any sign of our turncoat?"  
  
"Looking at the rendezvous point. About twenty feet away. No sign of the good doctor - wait, wait."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Chief, looks like a body's on the ground on location, right behind some crates." Looks like it's been there for a while, 'cuz snow's building up on top if it."  
  
"Hmph," Chief grunted.  
  
"Orders, sir?"  
  
"Three Eyes, hold position. Get your zippo ready. Code, Converse, with me."  
  
With Chief in the lead, the three figures on the ground raised their weapons and crept through the brush, cautionsly keeping their heads below the brush-line. Making their way closer to the stack of crates Three-Eyes mentioned earlier, they stopped just short of exiting their cover, with the partially snow-covered body visible just mere feet away.  
  
Chief raised his fist to halt his party. "Three Eyes?"  
  
"All clear, Chief," he replied through the earpiece.  
  
Nodding at both Code and Converse, they dashed into the clearing and towards the body, Converse in lead, Code right behind him, and Chief taking up the rear. Their boots softly crunched the snow as they made it behind the crates, and crouching over the snow-covered body.  
  
"Converse, check him out," Chief whispered.  
  
Converse brushed off the snow from the body, revealing it planted face down on the ground. He moved his fingers to the body's gloved hand, attempting to feel the base of its wrists for a pulse. Nothing.  
  
"No good, hold on a sec." Moving his fingers up to the body's neck, he was about to reach for the side to get a better feel of a pulse when he drew his fingers back in disgust - the exposed neck was pale gray.  
  
And red. With deep gashes across the side of its neck into its right shoulder.  
  
"Fuck!" Converse gasped.  
  
"What?" Code said, gun trained out into the open field.  
  
"Chief, this guy's gone."  
  
Chief glanced down at the body, particularly the half-tattered neckline. "Jesus. All right, let's flip him over. Search him."  
  
Both Chief and Converse grabbed the body's right side and pulled it towards them, flipping the body over on its back to reveal -  
  
"FUCK!" Converse gasped again.  
  
First, it was the stench of rotten meat. Rotten eggs. Rotten blood. The amalgam of evey smell of rot that comprised the smell of rotten flesh that, despite the cold arctic air, emanated strongly from the body.  
  
Second, it was the body's face. Or what was left of it. The half-exposed jaw. The ghastly open right eye with the missing eyelid. The hairline that was half-peeling away from the forehead, from the skull. The dried blood that covered half of its face . . . the body was clearly far gone from life.  
  
"This guy's a goner," Converse muttered.  
  
"This isn't Dr. Burnside," Chief said. "Even with half the face gone, it doesn't match the files."  
  
"Shit, boss, this guy looks like he was eaten or something."  
  
"This isn't decay?"  
  
"No sir. The skin's not gray enough, even with the freezer burn on him. Plus, those wounds across his neck - " Converse lifted the shirt off a particulary bloody portion of his torso, revealing more red gashes. "- and on his waist. They look like teeth marks."  
  
"Animal?"  
  
"I don't know, sir. Teeth weren't too sharp, since you can tell he was more ripped apart. Honestly, I don't quite know who - or what did . . . "  
  
"Shush!" Code hissed, raising her right palm openly.  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
Footsteps. The soft crunch of footsteps on snow.  
  
Code pressed herself against the edge of the crates. Chief signaled Converse to take the opposite end, while he himself scanned the open horizon in front of him.  
  
"Three Eyes, what do you see?" Chief whispered into his comm piece.  
  
"Got one headed in your direction, on the other side of the crates."  
  
"Bogey?"  
  
"Don't know sir. Doesn't look armed. Isn't moving very fast either - slouched over, looks like he's limping. Dunno, chief, but he doesn't look too good."  
  
"How far?"  
  
"Ten feet and closing."  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
"Seven."  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
"Five."  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
"Three."  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
"Two."  
  
Crrsh.  
  
Complete silence, save the whistling of the wind.  
  
Code tensed her fingers around her MP-5, ready to move.  
  
Converse raised his MP-5, finger on the trigger, ready to move.  
  
Chief was behind Converse, gun in hand, ready to move.  
  
Complete silence, save the whistling of the wind.  
  
Shrrrsh. Shrrrrsh. Shrrrsh. Shrrrsh.  
  
Chief whipped his MP-5 silently around, behind him, into the open and exposed horizon.  
  
Shrrrsh. Shrrrrsh. Shrrrsh. Shrrrsh.  
  
The horizon was clear. Yet, he coud still hear -  
  
Shrrrsh. Shrrrrsh. Shrrrsh. Shrrrsh.  
  
The snow. it was shapelessly moving towards him, closing in slowly but surely. Chief lowered thie tip of his barrel, aiming at the snow . . . .  
  
"Urrrrggghhhh," moaned behind him.  
  
"What the -"  
  
A cold, strong hand gripped Converse' right foot, knocking him off his steady crouch.  
  
"AHH!" Converse yelped.  
  
Crrsh. Crrsh. Crrsh.  
  
Shrrrsh. Shrrrsh. Shrrrsh.  
  
The sound sped up.  
  
The body's head was desperately trying to gnaw on Converse' foot.  
  
The snow was closing in rapidly on Chief.  
  
And just around Code's corner, someone else rapidly crept upon her -   
  
"Rrrggh."  
  
"Unnnhhh."  
  
Two sets of moans cried out as two human figures stood up from the snow in front of Chief, revealing themselves in their slouched - and rotten - form.  
  
All they did was moan as they closed in on Chief.  
  
"Don't move!" Chief barked sturdily.  
  
But they didn't respond.  
  
"Down on the ground!"  
  
But their faces, also half-tattered, half rotten, with their yellow eyes, didn't respond. And their arms were ready to wrap around him, closing in fast.  
  
"Shit. Go red."  
  
Pffft pffft pffft pffft pffft.  
  
"Three Eyes, light up."  
  
Chief's suppressed MP-5 shot five rounds into the nearest deadened body standing, as it collapsed onto the ground. Converse kicked away the close-gnawing head and shot two rounds into its skull. Code stood up to face her opponent, who was mere inches away, and delivered three bullets into its chest, stunning it back about a foot from the impact. As the last body attempted to wrap itself around Chief, he elbowed the body in the face and kicked it back. Just before it was able to regain itself and try again, a large WHACK shattered the back of its skull, from a bullet distances away.  
  
That body collapsed.  
  
But the first victim stood up from the ground again. And Code's opponent began to charge upon her again.  
  
"What the fuck -?!" Chief spat.  
  
Pffft pffft pffft pffft pffft.  
  
Five more rounds from Converse' gun entered Chief's undead opponent, two zipping across its head. The body collapsed sideways on the ground, next to its blown-away partner.  
  
Pffft pffft pffft pffft pffft.  
  
"Jesus Christ," she barked, as the person reeled back from the shots she delivered, still on its feet.  
  
"Just - FUCKING - " Raising her tip up to its head, she unloaded three more rounds to blow away its left eye, "-DIE!!"  
  
The body finally fell onto the snowy ground, with blood sprinkling the otherwise untainted white.  
  
"Unnnhhh," the body moaned, as it raised its arms, attempting to get up again.  
  
Pffft pffft pffft - splat.  
  
The tip of Code's MP-5 suppressor steamed into the cold winter air. The soft, whistling wind' harmonized with the complete silence that enveloped the scene. 


	3. Of Wizards and Warriors

"Hey. Coffee?"  
  
A white, small styrofoam cup landed onto the table.  
  
"Sure. Thanks."  
  
Clay Quartermain raised the cup in front of him up to his lips, taking a short sip before resting it on the table again.  
  
"Stale," he said.  
  
"Hey, that's handled on your end. I just fill the cup."  
  
Pulling up a chair next to Clay, the middle-aged assistant director rested himself on the rather uncomfortable metal chair, taking a swig of coffee from his own styrofoam cup.  
  
"Stale," the assistant director said.  
  
Clay leaned back on his seat, though his eyes remained trained across the window into the scene playing out before him at this very moment.  
  
"Portland lost again."  
  
"Told you so, Darrick," Clay grinned out the corner of his mouth.  
  
"To the Wizards, of all people," Darrick said.  
  
"You gotta let it go. Trailblazer glory's not coming back for a long, long time."  
  
"Just you wait, my friend. My faith tells me they will reign once again in my lifetime."  
  
"Yeah, and I'll be Chief of Staff before my dick goes limp," Clay slyly remarked.  
  
"Hey, if Vin Diesel can make it as an actor, anything's possible," Darrick replied, chasing his words down with another gulp of coffee. Focusing his attention at the scene Clay himself was observing through the window, Darrick looked at the black-hair woman sitting alone in the middle of the room, behind a small desk. While her lips mouthed inaudible syllables, her words spoke out at normal volume through the recording equipment set up in the room Darrick and Clay were in.  
  
From Darrick's observations, the black-hair woman didn't look happy to be here.  
  
"How's she doing, Clay?" Darrick asked.  
  
"What do you think? She feels like shit." Clay took another sip of coffee. "She needs back on sick bay. She needs a bed, not a hearing."  
  
"We need to know what she knows ASAP. We need to know what happened in this op while things are still fresh."  
  
"How are the investigations going?" Clay asked.  
  
"Field teams are pulling their hairs out," Darrick replied. "There's nothing out there. Whatever the explosion didn't destroy, the snowstorm erased"  
  
"Any survivors?"  
  
"Aside from her? None."  
  
"Any SIGNS of survivors?"  
  
"Heh," Darrick snorted, "well the field teams have just started. I'll tell you right now, though, I doubt we'll be able to get anything out of this other than rubble and snow."  
  
"Shit." Clay let out a deep sigh. "How much time do we have left out there?"  
  
"Right now? We have as much time as we need to do our thing. Canadian locals are getting curious though. We'll have to wipe up before they start getting antsy."  
  
"Right. Of course."  
  
Neither of them spoke while they listened to Agent Adelman's testimony through the soundproof room through the one-way mirror. She had just finished describing how the Raven Team leader, Mark Guierro ordered them "go red" as Darrick walked into the observation room. She was currently re-clarifying to CIA Agent Robert Gains just how much difficulty it took for the team to put down their bogies.  
  
Robert Gains asked how many rounds it took for Adelman to take out her opponent.  
  
She estimated somewhere in the double digits.  
  
Gains blurted a surprised "what?" and proceeded to remark on how unlikely her answer was.  
  
Adelman re-affirmed her answer.  
  
Gains asked just how possible her answer was.  
  
Adelman colorfully stated she had "no fucking idea."  
  
Clay Quartermain chuckled at the remark.  
  
"So, zombies, huh?" Darrick said with noticeable skepticism.  
  
"I don't know," Clay said, rubbing his forehead. Reaching his hand out to the nearby edge of the table, he pulled towards him a light-brown folder with white and red stripes marking its edges. In the middle of the folder were the words CLASSIFIED in bold, red lettering. To the left of the stamp was the CIA emblem, with the eagle head above the starred shield. To the right of the stamp was the SHIELD emblem, the red and blue ink securely dried onto the folder. Clay flipped it open and thumbed through several sheets of paper before pulling one of them out.  
  
"The transmission log," Darrick said, eyeing the paper Clay pulled out.  
  
"Correct. Supposedly, about this time Raven Team radioed us for further instructions. They weren't able to meet with Burnside, and requested a new COA."  
  
"That's when we told them to push forward," said Darrick.  
  
Several more moments of listening passed them by before either of them said a word.  
  
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.  
  
"I hope so," Darrick said.  
  
  
  
"General Fury made the right call. The Joint Chiefs made the right decision."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"An entire city was annihalated. On American soil. Because of them, Umbrella."  
  
"I know."  
  
Agent Sharon Carter refocused the hearing back to Adelman's narrative in the opposite room, while yet another awkward silence passed between SHIELD Field Operations Chief Agent Clay Quartermain and CIA Assistant Director Darrick Elger.  
  
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.  
  
"I hope so," Darrick remarked.  
  
They sat in silence and continued to listen to Adelman's disposition, how the Raven Team Leader Mark Guierro called back to base, where they went afterwards, and how those particularly unmarked blackhawks went down . . . 


End file.
